


Suffered Much From Waves and Wars

by fadedink



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Movie(s), refers to canonical character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:05:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadedink/pseuds/fadedink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Chuck's death, Herc doesn't want to go on living.  It's too bad for him that Raleigh has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suffered Much From Waves and Wars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dytabytes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dytabytes/gifts).



> Title is from this quote by Homer: "I have suffered much from waves and wars, and now let this trial join the rest."

Closing the Breach was supposed to be the end and the beginning. The end of the horror that had plagued them for over a decade. The beginning of a new life, free of terror, filled with hope. A chance to _live_.

For Herc, it turns out that closing the Breach is just another nightmare in a lifetime of them.

A banging on the door of his quarters draws his attention, and then Herc rolls to his side, face to the wall, and draws the blanket up around his shoulders. He'll just ignore it. Just like he did this morning. And last night. And yesterday morning. And every day for the last week.

 _Marshal Hansen? Marshal? Herc?_ drifts to his ear, all in Raleigh Becket's raspy drawl. More banging follows, accompanied by _Herc, open the goddamn door, I'm not even joking now_.

Herc just lays there, Max curled against his chest, and closes his eyes.

His son is dead, so the world can go fuck itself.

He doesn't owe them anything.

*

Herc's only half-awake when they finally get his door open. He shouldn't be surprised, not with a Shatterdome full of engineers and mechanics. It was only a matter of time before someone figured out how to bypass the lock.

He doesn't put up a fight when Raleigh hauls him from the bed, those usually warm blue eyes sparking with fury. _On your feet, old man_.

Even with a broken collarbone and his arm in a sling, he manages to knock Raleigh's hands away with enough force to make the younger man step back. _Don't fucking call me that_.

They drag him from his room and down the hall, and he fights them every step of the way. But it's Raleigh and two of Striker's techs against Herc, so it's a battle he's going to lose. He takes a sort of savage pleasure in the bruises and scrapes they incur as they wrestle him into the communal showers and strip him before shoving him beneath the spray.

After a threat to wash him if he won't do it himself, Raleigh just watches him with his arms crossed over his chest. 

Herc stands there, water streaming over his head, and glares at Raleigh in return.

Then, without a word, he gathers the remaining tatters of his dignity and presents his back to Raleigh.

*

_You're the Marshal now, you have to –_

_I don't want it._

_Maybe not, but you have it –_

_I don't want it! I never bloody wanted it!_

They glare at each other over the desk in Stacker's office (his office now, but that thought makes Herc's mind shy violently in another direction), and Herc can see the anger, the helplessness, the _guilt_ in Raleigh's eyes.

 _Chuck_...

No. Herc draws himself up, stiff as a board, and his knuckles are white as his fist rests on the desk. _Dismissed, Ranger_.

He pretends not to see Raleigh's flinch.

*

Days turn into weeks. Slowly Herc rejoins the living.

He goes about his daily duties, answers the calls and summonses he receives, promotes Mako to second in command because damned if he's going to do this forever.

And through it all, Raleigh is there, just at the edge of his vision, hovering like a mother hen. Prodding him to do this and do that. Reminding him to eat, to sleep, to spend time with Max.

It's enough to make Herc contemplate knocking Raleigh on his arse more than once. It's enough, in fact, to make him consider demonstrating in creative and painful ways to Raleigh why Australians have a reputation as brawlers.

Raleigh greets each snarl and dark look with nothing more than quiet words and encouragement. On the worst days, he takes Max for walks himself and keeps the dog with him overnight, leaving Herc to stew in his own misery.

Oh, how Chuck would rage at the idea that Herc might not be taking care of Max.

Chuck is still a raw, open wound, and every time Herc thinks of him, he remembers the non-sound of the payload detonating and his son dying before he even had a chance to live.

 _Why are you here_ he asks Raleigh one day, spitting the words.

Raleigh just shrugs. _There's no place else I need to be_.

Herc would drum him out of the PPDC, but, as Raleigh keeps reminding him, Stacker had never officially reinstated him before Operation Pitfall.

And ordering security to remove him from the Shatterdome won't work. To a person, they're all on Raleigh's side.

*

Mako joins him every day for lunch, ostensibly to go over daily operations. But Herc knows a guard dog when he sees one.

And even though Mako is now his second in command, it's Raleigh who has appointed himself as Herc's personal assistant. Not that Herc wants, or needs, one.

Raleigh just refuses to take no for an answer.

His is the first face that Herc sees every day, and the last he sees before he locks himself in his quarters for another night of little to no sleep.

All the time in between is spent with Raleigh's gaze on him. In meetings, video conferences, phone calls – everything. If other people are around, Raleigh keeps to the other side of the room, but his eyes follow Herc's every movement.

And the weight of that gaze is often times too heavy to bear.

Herc ignores the concern he can see in Raleigh's eyes.

*

He takes up smoking again, even though he'd abandoned the vice before Chuck was born. And he starts drinking.

Just a nightcap before bed at first, but it becomes two, then three, and spirals from there. He's up to a bottle a night when he starts to add the sleeping pills. Anything for a few hours relief, a few hours of dreamless sleep.

His wife is long dead, his son recently so, and Herc doesn't want to be part of a world that never appreciated them. A world that looked away as they turned children into killing machines and sent them out to die in the cold depths of the Pacific Ocean.

When Raleigh catches him one night, Herc just sits on the edge of his bunk and peers at him with bleary eyes.

And even though Herc has seen Raleigh angry before, the depth of the rage startles him into a state resembling sober.

If Raleigh had been female, objects would have been thrown. As it is, Raleigh's fist connects with the door. Words like _stupid_ and _pathetic_ and _waste_ are thrown around, but Herc can't sort out the context.

He doesn't give enough of a damn to make the effort.

But then Raleigh's hand smacks the middle of his chest, and Herc hears the words, _do you think Chuck would've wanted this, do you think he'd just sit back and watch you drink yourself to death and give up on everything he fought so hard for, how the fuck is this honoring his memory, sir_.

It almost comes to blows then, but Herc is too intoxicated to be effective.

Raleigh blocks each blow before finally shoving him backwards until he falls into a chair.

The door doesn't quite slam behind Raleigh.

The next morning, the Shatterdome is completely free of alcohol. Even the cooking sherry. And the pills are locked down tight, all keys mysteriously vanished aside from the one carried by the senior doctor.

When Herc confronts him, Raleigh remains calm. _If you're going to kill yourself, you're going to have to find some other way. Sir._

Fuck him.

*

The weeks turn into months and life goes on.

Eventually, Herc stops looking for booze and pills, knowing they're nothing more than a bandage. He even gives up smoking again. He never did like the taste of it.

Raleigh continues to hover, but it's less intrusive now, more comfortable. He's there when Herc needs something.

And he provides a quiet, calm buffer against a world that still wants its pound of flesh.

Herc hates answering questions about Chuck. Raleigh makes sure he doesn't have to anymore.

They fit together better now. And when Raleigh slips from time to time and calls Herc 'old man', Herc glares and snarls, but the urge to punch him in the face is gone.

Sometimes, Herc wonders if that urge isn't something left over from the years spent drifting with Chuck.

The boy had been rage and power and unrefined grace, and Herc misses him so much he can't breathe at times. When that happens, Herc shuts himself in his room and curls up on the bed with Max and tries to remember _why_.

There's never an answer.

*

The months fly by and, before Herc realizes it, late summer arrives. The days mean nothing to him.

Then Raleigh comes into the office one afternoon, says they're going out, and Herc's eyes shift to the calendar. Something inside him starts to tear when he sees the date is August 14th.

But his eyes are dry when he pushes away from his desk and stands. Raleigh grips his shoulder tight. Herc appreciates the support, appreciates even more the fact that Raleigh doesn't say a word.

Right now though, he just wants to get so drunk that he forgets his own name.

*

Somehow he ends up moving into Stacker's old quarters. They're the largest in the Shatterdome, complete with a private bath and a separate office, and _the Marshal should be comfortable_ Mako tells him.

But Herc doesn't want to be comfortable. He doesn't want any of this.

Raleigh just gives him a judging look when he complains.

Max, the little traitor, takes to the new living situation like it's his due.

*

His days continue the same as always with meetings, video conferences, paperwork...Raleigh continuing to babysit him. It becomes a warped game of sorts to see if Herc can shake him.

But Raleigh is persistent, and he sticks to Herc like glue.

Herc would be annoyed, but he doesn't have the energy.

And he only gives a token protest the morning he wakes up to find Raleigh asleep on the sofa in his quarters. Herc sits in the chair, watching him until he wakes, and Raleigh doesn't even have the decency to look embarrassed. Or offer an excuse.

He simply shrugs, scratches his chest, rubs his face, and asks if Herc wants the shower first before breakfast.

*

Raleigh moves in when Herc isn't looking. It's the only explanation he has as to why Raleigh now sleeps on his sofa every night.

They don't mention it; they just go on with things. Whether Herc wants Raleigh there or not, he's still the first person Herc sees in the morning and the last one he sees at night.

Sometimes Herc lies awake in the dark, listening to the soft snores that drift through his closed door.

He doesn't mention that, either.

*

Somewhere around Halloween, Raleigh shifts from the sofa to the bed. _Sofa's killing my back_ is all he says in response to Herc's raised eyebrows the first night.

Herc just grunts and retreats to his office.

He can still hear Raleigh's soft snores.

But long after midnight, Herc gives up and goes to bed. He ignores the warmth that radiates from Raleigh's lean body and the way he cuddles his pillow and mumbles in his sleep.

He wakes up the next morning half-draped across Raleigh, their legs tangled together. When he tries to extricate himself, he finds Raleigh watching him with those blue, blue eyes that give away everything and nothing. He waits for the mortification to set in, but it never rears its head.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Raleigh shifts just enough for Herc to move. Herc flees to the bathroom.

It becomes just one more thing they don't mention.

*

The days continue to slip past, relentless in their forward march. Along the way, Herc stops fighting Raleigh and Raleigh stops shadowing him.

Raleigh continues living in Herc's quarters, but now there are nights when Herc goes to bed first, falling asleep only to wake and find Raleigh there in the morning. Sometimes Raleigh is the big spoon and sometimes Herc is, but they're always curled together.

And one morning, over breakfast, watching Raleigh talk with Mako, Herc realizes he hasn't been lonely in weeks.

*

Christmas creeps up and catches him by surprise.

The video conference had gone on for two hours too long, and Herc just wants to relax and shut out the world for five minutes. So he heads for his quarters. But he stops dead in the doorway, mouth dropping open.

There's a Christmas tree in the corner, wrapped in lights and ornaments and a star on top, and Raleigh has draped the walls of his – _their_ – quarters with garland and holly. Herc doesn't even want to know where Raleigh had found holly in Hong Kong.

Even Max has gotten into the spirit with a red bow and bells on his collar.

And Raleigh is crouched beside the tree, his face the most open and vulnerable Herc has ever seen, and looking up at Herc. The tree lights bathe his face in a multi-colored glow, and it makes him beautiful in a way Herc has also never seen.

 _I wanted to be done before you got back_ is what Raleigh says as he slowly straightens, eyes shifting to the tree and back to Herc.

It's too much.

Herc closes his mouth, closes his eyes, then turns on his heel and leaves.

*

It's colder in Hong Kong than it used to be, another side effect of so much kaiju blood dumped into the Pacific and spilled along the mighty ocean's coasts.

The wind tugs at Herc as his hands curl around the rail that edges the helipad. He should have grabbed his jacket, but he's too numb to care.

He hears the footsteps approach, gritting across the tarmac before they stop behind him.

 _I'm sorry, I just_... Herc can almost hear the shrug in Raleigh's voice. He doesn't turn, though. He can't.

A few seconds of silence and then his jacket is draped over his shoulders before Raleigh steps up beside him. They don't talk. They just stand there and Herc lifts his face to the soft rain that starts to fall.

 _Christmas was always Chuck's favorite_ he tells Raleigh, chest tightening as he recalls memories long buried. Images of Chuck as a wee sprog, shrieking with delight on Christmas morning, of Chuck trying to keep reindeer antlers on Max's head, of Chuck as an adult, a small and rare smile appearing as he opened his gifts, race through his head. _It was his job to decorate the tree._

 _Oh_.

Raleigh didn't know. Of course he didn't. But Herc can't help the flash of resentment that surges through him.

*

Christmas morning dawns, and Herc wakes to find he's alone in the bed for the first time in weeks. The place beside him is rumpled, but empty.

Herc doesn't like the feeling.

But he smells coffee – real coffee, thank God, and bless Tendo for managing to get his hands on it – and hears sounds in the other room. So he stumbles out of bed and drags on a pair of trousers.

Raleigh meets him at the door separating the two rooms.

The cup of coffee pressed into his hands doesn't surprise Herc. The soft kiss pressed to his lips does until Raleigh points up and Herc sees a sprig of mistletoe hanging there. He doesn't ask.

 _I didn't get you anything_ he tells Raleigh minutes later when a large box is placed in his lap. Raleigh just shrugs and drops to sit on the floor by Herc's feet.

 _Go on, open it_.

Inside the box are notebooks. Dozens of them. The front of each one has a beginning date and an ending date written on it. Herc's hands shake as he lifts one and opens it.

The pages are filled with the ragged, looping scrawl of Chuck's handwriting.

_How..._

_Mako found them when we were...when we were cleaning out his quarters_. Herc looks up to find Raleigh watching him. _We thought you should have them_.

He doesn't say anything. Words have deserted him.

Chuck had kept journals. For years. Herc grips tight to the book in his hands as his vision blurs.

 _He's gone_ , and the rough, raw sound of his own voice breaks a carefully built dam inside him. He curls over the box and lets go.

Herc cries and it's full of ugly and loud sobbing, his entire body shaking with the force of it all.

The grief of a lost son, bottled up for eleven months, refuses to be ignored a second longer.

There's a band around his chest, squeezing tighter with each inhale, and it doesn't relent on the exhales. His breath jerks in his lungs, jagged and harsh, until his only possible sound is the broken _unh-unh-unh_ of a child.

He can't remember hurting this much when Angela had died. But then, Chuck had been there, the sight of him easing that grief just enough for Herc to continue moving forward. 

And now Chuck is gone. 

Raleigh just sits on the sofa beside him, wraps arms around him, and holds him as he falls apart. 

*

Mako runs the Shatterdome for the next four days.

During that time, Herc doesn't leave his quarters. Raleigh brings him food and takes Max for his walks. Afterwards, he stays just long enough to brush his hand against the back of Herc's head, clasp his shoulder, or remind Herc to put on socks so he stays warm.

Herc barely acknowledges him.

Chuck's loss is once more a raw, gaping wound in the center of his being, and he can't remember how to live with it.

So he reads the journals. For four days, he reads. It takes him that long to read a decade's worth of writing.

Chuck had written something every day.

Herc learns of his son's hopes and fears and dreams. He discovers how Chuck had lost his virginity at the age of 15 to a Jaeger fly as congratulations for graduating from the Academy. He reads Chuck's thoughts on the Becket brothers, the Gage twins, the Jessops, Mako and Stacker, and so many more.

But it's the pages and pages of writing dealing with Herc himself that are the hardest to read.

He struggles through them, focusing through fresh tears, and wishes yet again that things had been different.

It's the last entry that breaks him. Written just before Chuck had suited up for Operation Pitfall, it says everything that Chuck never could while he was alive.

_I reckon this is it. It should be Dad with me, but someone's gotta take care of Max. So if you're reading this, old man, TAKE CARE OF HIM. And I finally understand why you did it. Parents shouldn't have to bury their children._

_But Dad, I'm sorry you're gonna have to do it anyway. I wish things were different and I wish I could believe I'm coming back from this, but I think we've both always known it was gonna end this way. And I know it won't do any good to tell you this, but don't do anything stupid. Stupider than usual that is. And tell Max that I love him and miss him every day, would you? Dog's not gonna know what to do with himself with me gone._

_Once more into the breach and all that._

When Raleigh returns that night, Herc is curled up on the sofa, that last journal cradled to his chest. He's limp, exhausted, _numb_. His face is still wet from the tears, but he doesn't care.

He's not sure he has it in him to care again.

Max waddles over when Raleigh walks in and licks Herc's face. Even that isn't enough to draw more than a soft grunt from him. The grief on his soul is etched too deep, still too fresh.

And when Raleigh stands over him, it's all Herc can do to roll his eyes to look up at him. There's going to be a lecture.

But instead of saying a word, Raleigh just tugs him up, undresses him, and tucks him into bed with a soft kiss to the forehead.

*

New Year's Eve morning arrives much the same way Christmas had.

Herc wakes slowly, consciousness drifting up through layers, and finds that he's alone in the bed once more. The sheets are rumpled, but cool, and the pillowcase is half off Raleigh's pillow. He's still trying to figure out just how Raleigh manages that.

A quiet noise draws his attention. Peering out from the cocoon of blankets, he sees Raleigh standing in the doorway.

He's wearing just his boxers, bare feet curling against the concrete floor, and he's holding a tray with two plates (waffles from the looks of things, and Herc says another silent thanks for having an open port) and two mugs of steaming coffee.

And it's so _normal_ , so _right_ , that it takes a few seconds for it to register.

This is what his mornings have become in the last few months: a simple, quiet time with just the two of them and Max asleep on the floor by the bed. This, Herc realizes, is his life now.

 _Hope you didn't go down to mess like that_ is all he says as he sits up against the headboard.

Raleigh barks out a surprised laugh. _No, I had on my pants. And shoes. Floor's cold._

A few minutes – and some careful juggling of the tray – later, they're both settled in the bed, covers drawn up, and Herc takes his first sip of coffee.

And when Max is happily snuffling up the last few bites of waffle and licking the plates clean, Herc reaches for the journal sitting on the bedside table.

 _I'd like to read you something Chuck wrote_ as he flips through the pages to find the right one, and he clears his throat when Raleigh looks at him. _It's about you_.

Raleigh just nods and scoots further beneath the covers, head propped on one hand, as Herc starts to read. Chuck's voice echoes each word in his head. It's the first step on the road to healing and there will be a million more.

There will be times that he stumbles and falls, times when he walks backwards instead of forwards. But the first step, that's the important one.

*

The night is crisp and cold and clear. It's five minutes to midnight.

The entire Shatterdome – all the remaining techs, mechanics, LOCCENT crew, maintenance, and assorted others – are gathered on the helipad. Alcohol has mysteriously reappeared (but Herc catches Mako's small smile) and flows freely. For the first time in years, they're celebrating without any fear or threat of attack looming over them.

_Don't think I thanked you._

_No need to_. And maybe there isn't. Herc reaches over and takes Raleigh's hand, lacing their fingers together, and he smiles at the startled look Raleigh shoots him.

Not like the kid hasn't been dancing towards this for months.

The first fireworks go off over Hong Kong and the people around them start to cheer. There's confetti and horns and assorted noisemakers. And Raleigh turns into Herc, smiles, wraps his free arm around Herc's waist, and _kisses_ him.

_Happy New Year, old man. Don't waste it._

The soft words ring inside his head and Herc pulls back to rest his forehead against Raleigh's. When he opens his eyes to look, Raleigh still has his closed and a wide smile creases his face.

Herc laughs quietly.

_Don't call me that._

_Whatever you say, Dad._

It doesn't hurt. In fact, it's just the opposite. A sense of peace fills him, and that tight band around his chest eases for the first time in close to a year. He breathes freely.

 _Happy New Year_ Raleigh tells him with another, softer kiss, and turns to watch the fireworks.

Herc just whispers something that might be _you, too_ and stands with his chest against Raleigh's back, his arms around Raleigh's waist. At his feet, Max lets out a happy bark, and Herc laughs again.

He's going to be okay. Something tells him that Raleigh won't accept anything less.

That same something tells him that Chuck would approve.

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't what I intended to write when I first sat down with my assignment, but it's what happened. It wasn't as easy to write as some, but I think it's better for that? Maybe? My beta has assured me that it's a good fic (and that you can never go wrong quoting Homer) so, dytabytes, I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it's at least a little of what you wanted when you mentioned complexity and emotion in your request. :)


End file.
